


Little Creator, Big Dreams

by eggsinsunnyside



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Oneshot, the ink does some funky shit and nobody knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-11 21:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15980687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsinsunnyside/pseuds/eggsinsunnyside
Summary: Pushing himself to his feet, a nine-year-old Henry wandered into the depth of the studio with a letter and curiosity. All while the studio’s machinery quietly hummed in the background and the statue’s eyes brimming with light for a moment before it faded away to dullness.Basically child henry au





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been meaning to mess around with this idea but man, writing is hard now.

Bendy had hoped he would run into the Creator the next time he slinked out of the portal. Maybe not run into per say but gain a clue of where the human had skittered off. For the next time Bendy would catch him of course.

Apparently, it was too much to hope to run into the Creator and send him back to the ink again. Fate sure loved to screw around with Bendy. First the traitor returns after years of abandoning them, then he slips away from Sammy’s ritual and now, Bendy can’t even permanently kill the guy!

At least he had the satisfaction of testing the hundred new ways of maiming the human body. Who knew that the Creator’s flesh could be twisted that way.

It felt like only mere minutes ago that the Creator came wandering into the studio and fell into its depth where the monsters roamed.

For the many that became mindless with the Ink, they wouldn’t remember the numerous times they drowned the Creator in their ink, filling his lungs with the substance and suffocating him to death – returning him to the Ink just like he does for them. Then they would go back on their merry way, remaining in that stagnant state until they came across the Creator again.

That would not happen for a very long time as the ones capable of individual thoughts soon found out.

Bendy noticed it faster than the others as he hadn’t seen a hide or hair of the traitor in his roaming. He was the closest being that was connected to the Ink Machine – and by extension the Studio itself – and despite that, none of his senses were picking up on the Creator.

Time ticked by as minutes turned to hours and nobody had seen a hair nor hide of the Creator.

Even Alice was in the dark, screaming out for his presence through the loudspeakers scattered through the studio.

“Where are you errand boy?! Are you slacking off in your duty?” She accused sharply with a shrill voice, earning Bendy’s ire from how grating her voice was to his ears, however nonexistent they may be.

Boris hadn’t seen him either. Bendy had seen the wolf operate the elevator in different floors with wary eyes, hoping to catch sight of the traitor he was protecting but had no luck as well.

Which brought the question to them all; where had their Creator gone this time?

 

* * *

 

 

Ink dripped from the ceiling, cascading down like waterfalls and staining the wooden floor black. It was the smell of ink that stirred him awake, a semblance of his mind knowing that the smell was unnatural in that he couldn’t recall his room smelling so strongly of the substance.

Much to his surprise and dismay, he was not in his room, rather in an unfamiliar room of ink and defiled posters.

Anyone in his shoes would probably be freaking out, blabbering in fear and anxiety at the unknown surroundings, becoming agitated at even the slightest sound, and immediately go to find a way out. He would’ve too, except he didn’t, no sir.

He had been scared when he had woken up in front of a large statue – made of silver perhaps, it certainly has the color – with a smile too big looking down on him cheerfully. If he looked a little closer, he could’ve sworn that there was a glint of _something_ in the statue’s pie cut eyes, perhaps a something that was akin to mischief and pleasure.

‘ _Don’t be scared.’_

“I’m not scared.” He said quietly, shaking his head. “I’m not scared.” He repeated again with a firm nod, the fear fading away from his small frame.

The smell of ink pervaded his sense of smell and he wondered if maybe this was just another one of his vivid dreams that looked like a nightmare at first. It was certainly convincing enough if the smell was this strong. He could even hear the quiet whirs and ticking of machinery, quietly powering away in a place where he couldn’t see. It vaguely reminded him of the factory he once worked at before he was kicked out.

There was a loud rustle of papers when he moved his legs, and he found sitting beneath him was scattered pieces of blank yellowed papers. Lying atop of the pile not too far away from him sat a letter. Some of the words had been blotted out by ink though he could still read the rest of the letter’s contents.

_Dear Henry._

_It seems like **\----** since we worked on **\----** together. **\----** **\----** slips away, doesn’t it?_

_If you’re back **\--** **\----,** come visit the --- workshop. There’s something I need to show yo--._

_Your Best Pal, **Joey Drew**_

Henry smiled. It seemed that not even in a dream could change Joey Drew.

Pushing himself to his feet, a nine-year-old Henry wandered into the depth of the studio with a letter and curiosity. All while the studio’s machinery quietly hummed in the background and the statue’s eyes brimming with light for a moment before it faded away to dullness.  

 

* * *

 

 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Henry found himself to be stepping in time with the dripping of the ink if not just to satisfy his boredom that came after his awe of the workspace. It was one thing to be in awe about an unfamiliar location that you dream of, but for Henry, he was quick to become bored with the constant flow of ink and never-ending wooden hallways. There was only so much he could be curious about before wood and ink became a normal sight in a workshop.

‘ _Or studio?_ ’ He amended in thought as he eyed a poster that was barely clinging to the wall by a corner. It featured some kind of round body wearing a skirt with the owner’s head nowhere to be seen. _‘Maybe the head bounced off somewhere.’_

Henry counted sixty-six steps later when he ran into his first dream monster; a three-armed creature around Henry’s height, stood before him with a mouth full of stitches and a single human like eye staring at him with brimming curiosity.

“What are you supposed to be?” Henry asked.

The monster blinked at Henry’s question and pointed a finger at itself questioningly.

“Yes you.” He gestured to the asymmetrical body and eyed the mechanical arm, “That doesn’t look right. It’s metal.” Henry frowned. “Why is it metal?”

The monster’s mouth fell at Henry’s enquiry, brushing its gloved fingers against the prosthetics and shoulders sagging.

Henry frowned. “I’m sorry. That was mean of me to say.” He apologized and held a hand out, “My name’s Henry. What’s yours?”

It stared at his hand with wide eyes, briefly glancing back up at Henry’s face before hesitantly grabbing the boy’s hand. For the first few seconds, it barely held onto Henry’s hand in anticipation for an escape. However, when it became evident that Henry wasn’t planning to do anything yet and the grip tightened.

“EDGAR.”

“Edgar? That’s a nice name.” Henry smiled. “Do you know your way around here? I don’t know where I am.”

Edgar nodded eagerly and gently pulled along the younger boy. Perhaps later on, Edgar could take Henry to meet Charley and Barley. They could sure use the company. As Edgar guided Henry further into the studio’s depth, he had begun to forget why he had been so wary of the child in the first place and soon enough completely relaxed in Henry’s presence.

A terrible mistake to make in this studio.

Edgar had forgotten the most important rule of the studio that was always present in his mind: Beware the Ink Demon.

Henry had lowered his guard too much that Edgar didn’t notice the ominous presence until it was too late. Shadowy veins leaked into the walls and floors, covering the surface like a spider web and making the Ink vibrate in fear.

Edgar felt it the most strongly, his wobbly legs no longer able to support his body under the growing pressure and sent him collapsing onto the floor.

“Edgar?!” Henry cried out with a startled tone, immediately kneeling beside the fallen spider and frantically scanned the encroaching veins. “What are these?!”

Edgar clacked his teeth together urgently.

‘ _Run! Run away! It’s the Demon!’_  He tried to say but Edgar’s body had already started to lose its shape by then, rendering his words into muddled gurgles.

Henry’s face twisted into confusion as he had heard a strange noise instead of Edgar’s voice. His confusion did not last long however, a shriek escaping from Henry as Edgar’s body burst into blobs of ink, splattering all over the floor and some on Henry’s clothes.

“Edgar!” He called out fearfully, digging his fingers into the blobs of ink that once formerly made up Edgar. “Edgar, where are you?”

While Henry attempted to push the ink back together into a single puddle, he remained blissfully unaware of a deformed figure limping out of a portal that tore open the wall. It wasn’t until Henry felt chills running up his back that he realized that he was no longer alone and snapped his head back.

“Well, well, what’s this s’posed to be?” A single gloved hand grabbed ahold of his shirt and lifted him up high at ease. The first thing Henry saw was the ink that dripped from the new monster’s head and the last thing he registered was a familiar wide smile.

“You’re that statue!” Henry gasped in surprise and paused upon closer inspection. “But taller and messier.”

“What do you _mean_ messy?” The demon asked with an accusatory tone. Henry pointed at his forehead in response. “Oh. Well then, s’pose you do have a point then.” It grumbled in reluctant agreement and leaned its face into Henry’s direction. “So who are you and how did you get down here, pipsqueak?”

“I’m not pipsqueak!” Henry retorted hotly, “It’s Henry and I just woke up in here. This is my dream, isn’t it?”

“Your dream? What are you talkin’ about-“ The demon paused abruptly, tilting its head at Henry in a questioning manner, “Wait a second… _Creator_?”

Henry frowned. “Creator?”

Well this was new.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demands (and by popular, i mean by 5 people who are still counted as a lot by my standards), Little Creator Big Dreams has received a second chapter/oneshot!

Never has Bendy felt this lost since the first time he woke up in the studio with the Liar before him. Sure, there’s been a few incidents that puzzled him occasionally, such as when he couldn’t figure why did the Creator return to the studio after so long and how the man always returned every time Bendy put him down.

However, nothing could compare to this… this _little_ problem _._ Had it not been for the distinct bond the Creator shared with the Ink, Bendy would’ve never realized that the little boy in baggy clothes was the old coot. 

“Creator, what happened to you?! Why are you so.. _tiny?_ ” Bendy stressed worriedly, looking allover at the significantly smaller human. “You used to be about this tall.” He raised his gloved hand up to his malformed chest.

“I’m not tiny, you’re just tall and huge. And my name is Henry, not Creator!” Henry reminded with an irritated tone, crossing his arms. “It sounds like some kind of stiffy adult.”

 “Stiffy enough to not stay dead.” Bendy muttered under his breath.

“Stay what now?” Henry raised a brow curiously at the missed message.

“Nothing.” The ink demon lied smoothly, “So where did you come from, kiddo?”

Henry frowned disapprovingly at the nickname though he chose to not address it. “Shouldn’t you know?”

“What do I look like, a mind reader?” Bendy snorted jokingly, “I might be a demon, but I can’t read minds. So speak up, pipsqueak.”

“Henry. And I woke up in front of a statue.” Henry paused and stared at Bendy with scrutinizing eyes. “It looked a bit like you.”

“Like me?” Bendy repeated inquisitively, rubbing his thumb against his chin in thought, “Must’ve been one of my statues then. But that doesn’t explain how you became like this.”

“But I’m fine?” Henry said questioningly, glancing down all over his body.

“Creator, you are anything but fine.” Bendy pointed out.

“How come? Is it because I’m not as big, tall, ugly like you?” Henry teased with a small smirk.

“Yes. Definitely. Absolutely.” Bendy drawled and jabbed an inky finger at the human’s chest. “You’re not supposed to be like this! You’re supposed to be,” He clicked his fingers together while grasping for words in his mind, “Bigger. Messier. A little hairier too, I don’t know. Just not like this.”

“Are you sure you’re not talking about yourself?” Henry retorted back, smiling slightly when he noticed Bendy recoiling at the remark. “I’m not the thing that doesn’t have eyes and horns. You look like those weird goat things at the church.”

“You mean a _demon._ Which I am, I might add. See the horns and all?” Bendy gestured at his horns and grabbed the young human’s wrist. “Anyway, we got to get you fixed. You can’t be like this.”

“H-Hey wait up!” Henry yelped in surprise when Bendy pulled Henry along. “You’re going too fast!”

Due to Bendy having longer legs than Henry, the little boy had to jog in order to match with the ink demon’s pace and had his arm awkwardly held hostage by Bendy. While Henry struggled to remain beside Bendy’s side, the ink demon was brainstorming for solutions to his Creator’s problem and by extension, Bendy’s problem as well. It wouldn’t do to have the Creator like this, Bendy had no idea what having a kid would do to his plans for the Creator.

Speaking of kids, how long has it been since he’s met- Actually scratch that, he has never ever met a kid before. Fantastic, the first kid he ever meets is the Creator he was planning to sacrifice, and he doesn’t even get to enjoy the moment.

Gee fate, what else were you planning to ruin his experience with? Babysitting?

 “I swear this whole mess better be both the trouble you’re makin’, Creator. I mean, I’m doin’ this outta the goodness of my heart because I could’ve left you like this and- Hey, are ya listenin’ to… me?” Bendy twisted his head to look down on the human only to discover that the little human was nowhere to be seen.

A loud resounding groan rang throughout the studio’s halls. Out of all the traits the smaller Creator shared with the actual one, it had to be his habit of running away.

What next, the old man’s inability of staying out of trouble?!

Henry had no idea what had happened. One moment he had been trying to pull his wrist out of the horned monster’s hand. The only thought in his mind was to leave and find Joey (and maybe ask about what the dream version of his best friend wanted to show him) and afterwards, figure out a way to wake up.

Then all the sudden without any warning, the floor gave out beneath his feet as if something answered his wish. Henry barely made a noise as his wrist slipped out of the demon’s hand and he plummeted down the newly made hole.

It was a strange feeling. Henry felt like he was falling but the hole was dark; it was impossible to tell where he was in the abyss. It felt like forever until Henry was spat out from the dark and released back into the light. The joy he felt at seeing the light again quickly gave way for fear when he realized that he was moving further away from the floor and-

Oh. That’s the ceiling.

With a scream cut off by a grand splash, Henry fell into the ink flooded floor of Level 14.

 

* * *

 

There was always something happening in the Studio, whether it was the searchers lurking around, the Ink Demon patrolling the halls or even an unfortunate Butcher Gang member being caught by the Angel. Something was always happening somewhere in the Studio and it appeared that for today, that ‘something’ fell into Level 14.

The floor where the Projectionist roamed.

The Projectionist moved its attention away from a wall it had been staring at (for how long it would never remember) where it saw something writhing in the ink. It was small, about the size of an Edgar. A rogue Butcher Gang member perhaps?

Its assumption was dashed when there was a distinct lack of teeth forming at the top of the blob’s head, sludges wiping away at its face to reveal a pair of eyes. Ink cascaded down from the ‘something’, clinging to its body stubbornly to show a humanoid figure that was the size of an Edgar.

It was a Lost One. A very small one at that, the Projectionist observed.

The Projectionist was familiar with the Lost Ones, poor souls who were trapped in the Studio just like all of them with only their despair left behind. It sometimes found them and left them to their sorrows. The Projectionist had no businesses with them.

The Lost One in front of him was staring at him. Oddly enough, it wasn’t whining to the Projectionist of its desire to return home (don’t they all?). How strange. What was a Lost One doing in the floor where the Projectionist wandered?

The Projectionist watched as the little one attempted to stand up, only to fall back down on its rear. There was only so many attempts that could be made before the Projectionist grabbed the Lost One’s arm and pulled them onto their feet.

‘ _Thanks._ ’

The soft voice surprised the Projectionist, almost making it reel back in shock (pun not intended) if not for the little one’s grip on the Projectionist’s much larger fingers. Most voices, especially from the Lost Ones, often came off as muddled and screaming. Especially if physical contact was being by another ink creature such as the Projectionist itself.

This voice was quiet, lacking the shrill tone of the Lost Ones. It was still high pitched, but it was actually somewhat pleasant to the Projectionist’s ears, if it had any.

**“W̵̩̿̂̋́h̸̢̥̦͇̅͒̀͝o̷̢͍͝?̸̞̹͙̙͆”**

‘ _I’m Henry.’_ The little one chimed back cheerily. ‘ _Where am I?’_

There was a pang of pity and relief in the Projectionist. The little one must’ve been lucky not to run into the Ink Demon if it was lost in this level of Studio, much less his own floor.

**“L̴͚͛e̷̩͒͘v̷͖̗͚̘̔̾̊̍e̷̮̭͕̍͒̇ļ̵̖̲̈́̾͠ͅ ̸̪͎̚1̵̧͉͋4"** The Projectionist’s speaker crackled to life, conveying its voice that was long distorted by decaying wires and the Ink. “ **L̷̖͔̰̭͐o̷̦̿̃š̵͕t̸̼̂?** "

The little one hesitated before nodding. ‘ _Want to go up. Meeting a friend.’_

A friend? A rare thing to find and one to be cherished. The Studio had long become an unforgiving playground for the Ink creatures.

The little one’s voice whispered anxiously. ‘ _Can you help?_ ’

 There was very little reason for the Projectionist to help. It could’ve put the Lost one out of its misery, send it back to the ink before it met with any other unsavory abominations or anything else to keep that little light from drowning in the ink. It could’ve left the Lost one behind and continued on with its meaningless life. It could’ve taken the Lost one’s ink heart and keep it as part of the collection of heart in the flooded floor.

Instead of doing any of that, the Projectionist nodded and the little one _beamed_.

‘ _Thank you.’_

The Projectionist made a low noise of acknowledge in its speaker before ushering the Little one up the stairs where the elevator was – the thing that the Angel controls from above – without breaking contact. The Little one kept its fingers trapped around the Projectionist’s larger hands in an effort to stay close and use as leverage when the flooded floor made it difficult for the little one to move around, much to the Projectionist’s amusement.

It was strange. The Little one’s voice almost reminded the Projectionist of the Creator who left.


End file.
